


You Sentimental Sod

by Patriceavril



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Angst and Humor, Best Friends, Canon Compliant, Emotional Baggage, Family, Friendship, Gen, Moving Out, Nostalgia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27830575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patriceavril/pseuds/Patriceavril
Summary: “Prongs,” he said, his voice choked with emotion.James nodded. “I know.”Sirius tried to express how much the letter meant to him, how much it all meant to him, but all he could manage was, “Fuck.”“I know,” James repeated, hoisting himself off the ground so he could clap Sirius on the back bracingly. “I told you not to read it now, mate.” He grinned and offered Sirius the bottle of firewhisky, and somehow that simple gesture conveyed the sort of comfort and understanding that could only come from James.
Relationships: Sirius Black & James Potter
Kudos: 9





	You Sentimental Sod

Late June 1977

“You reckon we should have gone out to buy furniture before we started drinking?” Sirius lounged on the floor of his new flat with his long legs splayed out in front of him and his back resting against his trunk. His voice echoed in the almost comically empty room.

James accepted the bottle of firewhisky from him and took a large sip. “That would have been the responsible thing to do,” he replied, grimacing as the liquor burned his throat. “But when have you known us to be responsible?” 

“Fair enough. Although I own my own flat now. Doesn’t that automatically make me a responsible adult?”

James considered this for a moment. “Nah, I don’t think you can consider yourself a responsible adult until you actually own a couch.” He looked meaningfully at the cardboard box full of belongings that he was sitting on. “You should have just let Mum and Dad bring us to get furniture like they wanted to.”

Sirius shook his head. “Absolutely fucking not. Then they would have tried to pay for everything, and I’m not letting them do that. They’ve done enough already.”

James glanced sideways at Sirius and grinned. “Well, in that case, you may not want to look in that bag over there,” he replied, pointing to a bag resting on another cardboard box near the window. Too lazy to stand, Sirius Summoned the bag, and the telltale clang of coins revealed its contents before it even reached him.

“I hope they realize I’m not going to use this,” Sirius said, peering into the bag and widening his eyes at the hefty pile of Galleons inside. “I’ve already probably cost them at least this much with the amount of bloody food I eat.”

“You have to use it,” James said, still grinning. “They said if you don’t they’re going to have that photo of all of us in the matching Christmas sweaters blown up and hung in the Great Hall. Supposedly Dumbledore already agreed.”

“Lovely.” Sirius set down the bag of money and returned to his spot on the floor. His gaze drifted to the aforementioned photograph, a housewarming gift from Mr. and Mrs. Potter and so far the only decoration in his entire flat. Sirius had protested loudly and vehemently when presented with the sweater, and in the photograph he crossed his arms and scowled at the camera, yet he secretly loved wearing the ridiculous sweater and posing for the cheesy photo because it meant he was part of a family, one that wore matching snowflake sweaters and laughed together rather than one that spent every holiday in constant conflict. He thought back to Christmas Eve when the photograph had been taken. He and James had spent the day playing “Snow Quidditch,” a game of their own creation that was in essence just a snowball fight on broomsticks. When their frozen hands became too numb to grip the broom handles, they had gone inside for dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Potter and a few old family friends. Sirius had felt so touched when Fleamont introduced him as “our adopted son Sirius” that he almost forgot to shake the old witch’s hand and only recovered himself when James cleared his throat and muttered, “Don’t just leave her hanging, Padfoot, you git.” After dinner Sirius and James had retired to the parlor with a bottle of firewhisky and stayed up half the night discussing Quidditch and planning elaborate pranks that they would likely never actually carry out. It was not a particularly remarkable day, and yet it had been one of the happiest of Sirius’s life.

“I can’t believe you have your own flat,” James remarked, and the sound of his voice jarred Sirius back to the present. “I still don’t see why you didn’t just stay with us for the summer.”

Sirius looked around at his new flat, the sight filling him with an odd mixture of emotions. He felt a thrill of satisfaction and pride as his eyes fell on the worn hardwood floors, the cramped kitchen, the sunny living room that led to a small balcony overlooking the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley. This was his, all of it, and he didn’t have to feel guilty about breaking anything or making too much noise or smoking like a fucking chimney without bothering to open a window. The possibilities this new freedom presented stretched out before him, undefined and endless and inviting. Yet the thought of no longer calling the Potter manor home pained him, for as much as he hated being a burden to them, he also loved waking up under the same roof as people who cared for him. 

“It’ll be good to have my own place,” Sirius replied, struggling to put his jumbled feelings into words and settling instead for a large swig of firewhisky. “You can come stay all the time when you’re not training for Quidditch like a crazy person. You can even decorate your room.” He pointed to the door of the smaller bedroom.

“That’s a good idea, but could you bear to have Ballycastle Bats banners hung up in a flat you own?”

“I was thinking you might put up some photos of Evans,” Sirius said with a wry smile. “Not your entire collection, maybe just 15 or 20 of them.”

“Shut up.” He ran a hand through his hair, then grabbed the firewhisky bottle from Sirius and took a sip. “Where will Moony and Wormtail sleep if they come to stay?”

“Couch, I suppose?” Sirius lit a cigarette before tossing the pack to James. “Well, Moony can take the couch. Wormtail can take the floor, he won’t complain.” He took a drag on his cigarette, then exhaled and laughed. “Fuck, that’s kind of mean, isn’t it? I should be a bit nicer to Wormtail.”

James shrugged. “Maybe a bit.” He lit his cigarette, then slid onto the floor and lay down with his head resting against his arm. “Don’t overdo it, though, or he won’t know how to handle it.”

“You’re probably right.” Sirius cast around for something to use as an ashtray, then gave up and let the ash fall onto the floor. It was his flat, after all - fuck it. “Oh, I know, I’ll get bunk beds!” He turned to James, his face lit with drunken enthusiasm. “That way it won’t take up too much space in your room. We’ll have so much room for activities!”

“That is the best idea you’ve ever had,” James replied, his cigarette dangling perilously from his fingers as he attempted to sip from the firewhisky bottle without sitting up. “Except there’s a very good chance one of them is going to get drunk and fall off the top bunk.”

“And there is an equally good chance I’m going to laugh my arse off when that happens.” Sirius chuckled as he pictured the amusing scene. “We should have everyone come stay. We can all go out to the pubs - it’ll be a laugh. Fuck it, we can even get Evans and Macdonald to come.” He studied the smoke curling up from his cigarette with a pensive expression on his face. “She’s all right, Macdonald. I miss seeing her every day.”

James opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to think better of it and merely nodded. Sirius adjusted his position and upset the bag of money that rested on the floor next to him. Galleons spilled out onto the floor, rolling in every direction and causing both Sirius and James to snort with laughter.

“Nice going, tosser,” James remarked, giving him a thumbs up.

“Shut it, don’t think I didn’t see when you went to take a sip and missed your mouth.” Sirius sat up to retrieve the spilled coins and spotted a folded piece of parchment peeking out of the bag. “Hang on, there’s a note?” He pulled it from the bag and peered at it. The fading afternoon light in the flat and the haze of alcohol made it difficult to read.

James held up a hand. “I dunno if you should read that right now.”

Sirius glanced over at him and frowned. “Why not?”

James hesitated. He could identify his friend’s particular mood without even thinking about it, but he had difficulty putting the subtleties of it into words. “You’re that sentimental sort of drunk,” he said finally.

“Sod off, you’re the sentimental drunk, not me,” Sirius said, leaning against his trunk and unfolding the parchment.  
“That’s usually true,” James conceded. Out of the four Marauders, James was most likely to be the one with his arms slung around his friends, drunkenly slurring, “You’re my best mates. I love you tossers. You know that, right?” He continued, “But once in a while you get into this rare zone of drunkenness where you’re even more of a sentimental sod than I am, and unless I am very much mistaken, I believe you are in that zone at the moment.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Oh, is that right? How can you tell?”

“You said you should be nicer to Wormtail, and you admitted you like Macdonald and are going to miss her this summer,” James replied with a smug, knowing smile.

“I never said I like Macdonald-” Sirius began indignantly, but James cut him off.

“You said she’s all right, which is basically your equivalent of saying you love someone,” he said, then plowed on before Sirius could protest. “Anyway, the point is, those are two clear indicators that you are in that rare sentimental state of mind, and I think that note might be more than your little heart can handle.”

Sirius rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue. “Don’t tell me what to do, Prongs,” he said. “I’m a property-owning, responsible, mature adult, and you’re not the boss of me.” He held up the parchment to catch the weak light streaming through the window and began to read.

Dear Sirius,

Congratulations on getting your own flat. Please use this to buy yourself some nice furniture (but make sure it’s sturdy, because we haven’t forgotten that time you and James let the Bludger loose in the house, or the time James dared you to sled down the big staircase, or the time the four of you “accidentally” let off a firework in the dining room and it hit the chandelier, or, well, you get the idea). This is our housewarming gift to you, so don’t you dare even consider not accepting, or the student body of Hogwarts will find out how adorable you look in a Christmas sweater.

Even though we wish you would have stayed with us for the summer, we understand your need to be independent and self-sufficient (although we’re honestly a bit nervous about what the state of the flat will be when you’re left to your own devices to keep up with cleaning it). We want you to know that even though you might have felt like you were an inconvenience or a burden to us, we will never, ever think of you that way. We love having you around, even if you do eat us out of house and home and you drink the firewhisky faster than we can restock the liquor cabinet. We always wished we could have given James a sibling, so we’re glad he found one for himself. We truly think of you as a son, and we’re so incredibly proud of the person you are in spite of the bigotry, prejudice, and hatred you were surrounded by for the majority of your life. You stand up for what you believe in, and stand up for your friends, and the world needs more people who are willing to do that, especially these days. You have so much talent, and we know you’ll use that talent to try to make the world a better place (we know you’re probably rolling your eyes right now, but it’s true). 

Anyway, sorry for the rambling and sappy letter, but we figured it would be better than trying to say all this to you in person. Please don’t be a stranger. At the very least, we will expect you every week for Sunday lunch. Be careful, and try to behave yourself, although we know that’s not always easy for you or for James. 

Love,

Mum and Dad

Sirius looked up from the note and found James watching him, his expression both sheepish and expectant. He tried to speak but could not force his lips to form words. The almost tangible weight of the sudden rush of emotions pressed on his chest, and he found himself blinking rapidly and biting his lip as he stared down at the letter. After an indeterminate length of time, Sirius met James’s gaze.

“Prongs,” he said, his voice choked with emotion.

James nodded. “I know.”

Sirius tried to express how much the letter meant to him, how much it all meant to him, but all he could manage was, “Fuck.”

“I know,” James repeated, hoisting himself off the ground so he could clap Sirius on the back bracingly. “I told you not to read it now, mate.” He grinned and offered Sirius the bottle of firewhisky, and somehow that simple gesture conveyed the sort of comfort and understanding that could only come from James. Sirius accepted the bottle and took a long swallow, and the heat of the liquor calmed him. He took a deep breath and chuckled softly. 

“Look who’s the sentimental sod now,” he remarked. “Guess I should have listened to you after all.”

“It’s all right. Maybe you’ll remember next time.”

“Don’t count on it,” Sirius said. He pulled the pack of cigarettes from his pocket and took one before offering it to James. They smoked in companionable silence for a few minutes, watching the last of the afternoon light fade. 

“We got any food?” Sirius asked finally. “We never had lunch. I’m so hungry I could die.”

“What about your emergency Bertie Botts stash?” James suggested.

“Nah, I ate those and forgot to replace them. No chocolate either.” 

“Damn. Where’s Moony when you need him?” 

“Probably reading some ridiculous Muggle novel, wearing what he refers to as a ‘summer jumper,’ which is an oxymoron, in my opinion, and eating his third chocolate bar of the day,” Sirius replied, grinning fondly.

“So accurate,” James agreed. “I miss Moony.”

“Me too.” Sirius took a sip from the firewhisky, hoping that would assuage his hunger.

“Wait, hang on!” James exclaimed, his eyes lighting up. “Check in that box.” He pointed across the room at a smaller cardboard box. 

Sirius crossed the room and opened the box, then pulled out a bag of various baked goods. “Excellent,” he said, selecting a biscuit and eating half of it in one bite before tossing the bag to James. “Did they tell you they packed snacks?”

“No, I just had a feeling,” James replied. He reached into the bag and grabbed a crumpet at random, then bit into it and brushed the crumbs from his shirt. “I think Mum’s worried you’re going to starve without house elves to cook for you.”

“That is a very real possibility,” Sirius said as he finished his biscuit and promptly helped himself to another. “If you don’t hear from me for a couple days, it’s probably because I’ve wasted away from lack of food.”

James laughed. “Impossible. You’re intolerable if you so much as miss a meal. You’d never let yourself starve.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Sirius crammed the rest of the biscuit into his mouth and reached into the box, rummaging around for a moment before pulling out a Quaffle. He tossed it into the air and caught it several times before throwing it underhand to James. James caught it easily and tossed it back, putting a bit of spin on it.

“Maybe I should leave the room empty like this,” Sirius said as he reached up and caught the Quaffle. “More room for this sort of thing.” He faked a throw, then leaned over and threw from a completely different position.

“I dunno, I kind of like having furniture to jump over,” James said. He had not been tricked by Sirius’s fake throw, but had to jump awkwardly to one side to catch the Quaffle. “It makes it more of a challenge. Okay, new rule - throw it how you catch it.” He repeated his awkward side jump to throw the Quaffle to Sirius.

“Then maybe I should set up an obstacle course specifically designed for this,” Sirius countered. He bent low and caught the Quaffle before it sailed through his legs, and repeated the motion to throw it back. “I could have hurdles you have to jump over, maybe some mini hoops on each side of the room?”

“That sounds brilliant, but I don’t think that’s going to work for you. You’ll need a couch for snogging.” James dove and caught the Quaffle but collided painfully with Sirius’s trunk in the process. “Bloody hell.”

“You have a point,” Sirius agreed, then burst into laughter as he witnessed James’s less than agile catch. “Nice one, Prongs. Please do that at the next Quidditch match, yeah? And make sure you throw it back that exact same way, swearing and all.”

“Sod off,” James snapped, rubbing his shin. “I’m more graceful on a broom - you’ve seen my sloth grip roll. Also, I’m fairly drunk.” He ran a hand through his hair to regain his composure. “All right, hang on, let me see if I can recreate it.” He took a few steps back, then dove across the floor and threw the Quaffle while shouting, “Bloody hell!” 

“Well done.” Sirius caught the pass easily and tossed it back. “Okay, prepare to be amazed.” As James caught the pass one-handed and sent it soaring back, Sirius launched into a cartwheel. He somehow managed to catch the pass one-handed, and the maneuver would have been impressive except his hand slipped on the smooth floorboards and he toppled over awkwardly.

“Good thing you prepared me for that, otherwise I don’t think I could have handled this level of amazement,” James said between snorts of laughter. He strode across the room and extended a hand to help Sirius up. “Was that the result of intoxication, or did your jacket constrict your movement?”

Sirius grinned “Combination of both, I think. Here, come down and join me. I think I’ve exhausted my athletic abilities for a bit. Also, I’m thirsty.” He reached over and grabbed the bottle of firewhisky and helped himself to a sip. James joined him on the floor, laying back with legs stretched out, before he took the bottle from Sirius and managed not to miss his mouth this time. He tossed the Quaffle into the air idly until Sirius intercepted it and it rolled away across the room.

“Rude,” James commented, but he made no move to retrieve the Quaffle. They both lay there passing the bottle back and forth in silence for a few minutes. Eventually James said, “Isn’t it strange to think that in a year we’ll all be getting our own flats? This year is the last time we’ll all share a dormitory. It’s a bit sad, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, a bit,” Sirius mused. “But hey, maybe you could move in here next summer? If you and Evans don't end up moving in together, that is. Or hang on, the three of us could all live together! Is this a great idea, or a bloody awful one?”

“Evans and I aren’t even dating, Padfoot,” James reminded him.

“Yeah, but you will,” Sirius said, as if stating a fact, an inevitable outcome, rather than a mere possibility. “And when you do, you’ll have to move fast to make up for lost time.”

“I hope you’re right,” he replied, his eyes full of that earnest James Potter hope that allowed him to find solutions to seemingly unsolvable problems. “Bloody hell, I hope you’re right.”

“I’m almost always right.” Sirius sat up and scanned the floor for his cigarettes; it had become difficult to see, and he realized the room was now almost completely in darkness. He lit his wand, then turned to James as if he had just realized something. “You know what I’ve just thought of?”

“What?” James was still flat on his back, the expression of dreamy longing lingering on his face. 

“Where the fuck are we going to sleep?” He gestured around at the mostly empty room.

“Oh, shit,” James groaned. The wood floors were fine to lounge on as they drunkenly smoked and talked about the future, but they would not make a comfortable bed. “Don’t you have any blankets or anything?”

“I have that Cannons blanket, that’s probably big enough to cover both of us,” Sirius replied. “But I know for a fact I only have the one pillow, and you’re my best mate and everything, but we’re not sharing a bloody pillow.”

“Check the trunk, maybe there’s an extra one in there you forgot about,” James suggested, pulling one of the cardboard boxes towards him and tipping the contents out onto the floor. “Wait, hang on, this is even better!” He held up a small zippered bag.

“Is that a tent?” Sirius asked. “I don’t own a tent.”  
“No, I expect Mum and Dad packed it up for you. I know they’ve been talking about getting a new one. I guess they figured maybe you’d want it now that you’re on your own.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “What the fuck do I want with a tent?”

“Well, they’re typically used to sleep in during a camping trip,” James said, then jumped quickly out of the way as Sirius aimed a playful shove at him. “But I think it could also come in handy if, say, two drunk idiots happened to have nowhere to sleep.” He unzipped the bag and dumped the tent and poles onto the floor, then attempted to use magic to assemble it. After several minutes he stared in disgust at the tangled mess of poles and fabric, then turned to Sirius and asked, “Are you going to help, or are you just going to stand there and laugh at me?” He pulled out one of the poles that poked haphazardly from the pile and jabbed Sirius. 

“Ouch, all right, I just didn’t realize it was a two person job.” He pointed his wand at the tent; it slowly lifted into the air and formed something halfway-resembling an erect tent before it collapsed again into a heap. “Fuck, this sounds like the setup to a joke - how many drunk wizards does it take to pitch a tent?”

James snickered. “Sounds like a dirty joke.” He pointed his wand at the tent again but had no more success than Sirius. “Fuck, this is hard.”

“That sounds even dirtier.” Sirius studied the tent. “Here, you hold it there, and I’ll stick the pole in.”

“Okay, you did that one on purpose,” James said, grinning. 

When they eventually got the tent set up, after several more double entendres and much swearing, they burst through the tent flap and collapsed onto the beds inside the magically-enlarged space. 

“This is kind of brilliant,” Sirius said. He rolled onto his side and propped his head on his arm, then swigged from the firewhisky bottle before passing it across to James. “Maybe I’ll leave this set up in the living room all the time.”

“It’s almost worth the effort of setting it up,” James agreed. He paused, then ran a hand through his hair and looked sideways at Sirius. “Pads?” His voice was quiet, hesitant. “I didn’t write you a fucking sentimental letter or anything, but-”

Sirius held up a hand to silence him. “Don’t, mate.” His grey eyes met James’s hazel ones, slightly unfocused from the alcohol, yet communicating something more meaningful than words. “I know.” He let the words hang there, then laughed and reached out a hand. “Come on, don’t hog that bottle, I’m dying of thirst over here.”

  
  
  



End file.
